Tumbling Rocks
by Annaelle
Summary: It all happened too fast. All he registered was the loud roar of tumbling rocks, growing louder as the ground beneath his feet began to quake and crumble. He suddenly found himself airborne, seemingly hovering for a split-second before he plummeted down into the abyss, the sharp, jagged edges of the rock looking almost like the Kraken's teeth, waiting to devour him in whole.


**Hi... I know, I'm a very naughty writer... I should be working on RSB, and I am, but I just enrolled in college, and everything's just super hectic right now, but I promise I'll update once everything settles. **

**Now, since the season 3 premiere is coming up (FOUR DAYS, PEOPLE!), I decided I wanted to write some Captain Swan, just for old times' sake, and then this popped into my head-I have no idea where it came from, but it wouldn't leave me alone until it was written.  
**

**Stubborn pirate. Stupid stubborn Swan. **

**Okay, now, fair warning, this has some _references_ to Swanfire-which is a ship that appalls me even more than Stelena does, for my TVD readers-but it is a Captain Swan oneshot, ladies and gents! **

**I love Captain Swan, and I honestly can't stand the thought of Emma going back to that spineless gutterrat-Neal, not Hook ;). **

**Anyway, I hope you all enjoy!**

**BTW, this is unbeta'd, and it's 1 AM in the morning here, so blame any and all mistakes on that. :D**

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**Tumbling Rocks**

It all happened too fast—he had barely found the time to sigh in relief when he shoved the lad into Swan—Emma's—arms. All he registered was the loud roar of tumbling rocks, growing louder as the ground beneath his feet began to quake and crumble.

His eyes locked on Emma's for a split-second, before the rock beneath him gave way, and he suddenly found himself airborne, seemingly hovering for a split-second before he plummeted down into the abyss, the sharp, jagged edges of the rock looking almost like the Kraken's teeth, waiting to devour him in whole.

He swings his arms around, desperately attempting to find something, anything, to hold onto—but his hook merely bounces off the falling debris, and the skin on his hand is scraped and cut, and all he can feel is the ice-cold breeze against his skin.

He must say, he never did expect his life to end quite like this.

He'd liked to imagine an honorable death—dying in battle seemed inevitable. He was, after all, a notorious pirate.

But this…

Falling off a cliff…

It didn't seem right—he wasn't _willing_ to die like this.

And suddenly, he seemed to stop—he was still dangling in mid-air, his ribs aching with every breath he took—but he wasn't _falling_. His mind felt sluggishly slow as his eyes travelled up, following his arm, to his hand—he'd assumed the warm, tingling feeling spreading through his fingertips had been the hot blood dripping from the many cuts and scrapes he'd acquired.

He wasn't entirely wrong.

There was a lot of blood—but there were also two smaller hands wrapped around his hand and wrist.

"Swan," he bellowed, "What are you doing?" Emma was lying flat on the ground, holding onto him for dear life—he just saved Henry; she couldn't let him go.

"I'm saving your stupid ass, you idiot!" she yelled back, smiling faintly when she registered that even falling off a cliff wouldn't keep them from bantering—it had almost driven her parents (read: Charming) crazy to see how well she and Killian got along and worked together when they weren't trying to go behind the other's back.

"You can't hold me, lass!" he winced at the emotion—the fear, the concern—that thickened his voice; but he could not allow Emma to fall to her doom—she had _everything_ to live for.

She had a family that was now, once again, complete.

"I'm not letting you go!" She yelled, and he would have sworn there were tears shining in her eyes—but he refused to believe so. Emma was strong—the strongest lass he had ever known; stronger than Milah, in many, _many_ ways.

She would be fine without him.

She knew how to steer the Jolly, and the Jolly would obey her commands as well as she had always obeyed his. They could all go home, to Storybrooke, far from all the madness of Neverland and the Enchanted Forest.

She would be safe.

"You have to, lass," he said, gentler, softer now, "You have your lad—Henry needs his mother." She shook her head furiously, digging her nails into his skin as she spat, "Don't go all martyr on me, Jones," she smirked at him—the way she always did when they stayed up during the night and consumed filthy amounts of rum, "It's not your style."

Despite their precarious situation—what with him dangling off a cliff, razor sharp rocks waiting for him at the bottom of said cliff—he laughed, shaking his head. "No, it is not, love. But you know I am right—my life is at its end—I do not wish to take you with me."

"Don't say that!" She cried desperately, tears rolling down her cheeks now—her grip on his hand tightening, though they could both feel his hand slipping—his blood made it harder to hold on, harder to get a firm grip.

Killian winced lightly—he never could stand to see her cry—and curled his fingers as much as he could, enveloping her wrist. "Emma, love," he whispered, "Let me go. Your boy needs you—your family needs you. Let me go."

"What about what I need?" She sobbed, shaking her head, "I need you! You can't let go—I need you. I—" she choked for a moment, the horrible familiarity of the moment pressing down heavily upon her; she'd been here before—and it hadn't been enough.

But this was different.

_He_ was different.

"I love you," she finished, watching his expression change so many times, so many emotions flitting across his face, she could barely keep track of them—fear, confusion, surprise, disbelief…

_Love. _

Killian's world seemed to slow down as she spoke those words, and he could only stare at her, waiting for her to take the words back, to deny her claim—for she couldn't love him; he had always assumed Baelfire, though lost to her now, was her True Love. They had a child, and she had said she loved him still.

So he stared, confused, surprised, _hopeful—_and he found nothing but sincerity in her gaze. "Emma, lass," he breathed, something deep in his chest warming, radiating, "I love you."

Emma choked a laugh, feeling the weight of the world seeming fall from her shoulders, "Then fight—help me. I can't pull you up alone, and the others aren't here yet—you need to climb. I'm not letting go."

"Love, the rock will crumble," he protested, though feebly—he wanted to live; he _wanted _to fight, to be with his darling Swan.

She deserved to be fought for.

"We'll make it," she smiled, "Now pull yourself up—I've got you," her eyes locked on his as he tried to slam his hook into the rocks to get some minor form of handhold—to stabilize himself and her as they worked together to get him back on steady soil; and people wondered why he preferred the seas; at least there weren't any crumbling cliffs on the Jolly or any other ship.

"Okay," he nodded slowly, looking up at Emma, "Ready?" Emma nodded shakily, looking over her shoulder briefly—Killian assumed towards Henry—before looking back at him. "Yeah. Come on, Jones," she joked lightly, "Show me why we make quite the team."

He chuckled and nodded. "You're on, Swan." He swung back and forth, trying to find a steady hold, a ledge—something he could use to push off on, so he could aid Emma in hoisting him back over the edge.

It was a simple, straight-forward plan.

It _had _to work.

They only had one shot—if he would jump up, and he and Emma wouldn't be able to pull him onto the edge far enough, he'd fall; and no one would be able to catch him anymore.

He knew it, and he knew Emma knew it too.

He just _wanted_ to live so badly—he wanted to be with her, wanted to be that family he never had, the family he'd always craved.

"On the count of three?" Emma suggested shakily. He smiled a little, nodding slowly, "On the count of three, lass—" Emma stopped wiggling around and looks down at him with the sweetest, most adorable smile he'd ever seen on her. "—if this doesn't work," he shook his head when she started interrupting, "If this doesn't work—I love you, Emma."

Her eyes softened, filling with emotion as she replied, "I love you too, Jones. Don't make me regret it. You can do this. I'm not giving up—and neither are you." He smiled at her stubbornness, flexing his fingers a little. "Aye, lass, I'm not giving up. Ready?"

She breathed out shakily and whispered, "Ready. One, two, three—"

He pushed himself off the tiny little ledge he'd found, feeling the rock underneath his feet crumble as he did. He jumped high enough to dig his hook into the ground next to Emma, to give him that tiny bit of extra hold-on—the little bit of hope he needed.

He allowed Emma to pull him up slightly, so he could dig his elbows into the ground as he hoisted himself up—almost slipping and falling—for a long, tense heartbeat, he thought that he _had_ fallen, but then he suddenly found himself already halfway back on the cliff.

He made it.

He crawled away from the edge, having seen far too much of that bloody death trap already, before collapsing onto the ground. He rolled onto his back, breathing heavily, smiling lightly as he heard a soft thump on the ground next to him—he rolled his head to the side and smiled at a panting Emma, laughing softly in relief; they were okay.

They were _both_ okay.

"Ello love," he breathed, silently admiring the breathless smile that made his heart stutter in his chest. He sat up slowly, feeling more than a little shaken and wobbly, helping her sit up slowly too. She raised her fingertips to his face, tracing his features delicately, almost as though she was afraid he'd break if she'd touch him too roughly.

"Emma," he stilled her hand with his, her skin feeling like the softest silk he had ever touched, "Calm down, lass—we're okay. We both are."

She raised her gaze to meet his—and she snapped. She ignore his soft moan of pain and threw her arms around him, squeezing him tightly, smiling widely as she felt his arms wrap around her in return, his hook resting on the small of her back, his hand resting on her shoulder, pulling her body close to his.

She just gave into how good it felt to be in his arms, allowing herself to need him—even if it was just for this little while. "I was so scared I lost you," she whispered, her face buried in the crook of his neck, "I was so scared." Subconsciously, her grip on him tightened as her voice nearly broke on the last word.

Tears fought their way back to her eyes as she recalled how terrified she had been when she had thought she lost him. "Shh, darling,' he cooed, his hook resting on the small of her back and his hand running through her hair, "You saved me—you and Henry and I; we're all fine. We found the lad—we can go home."

"Henry," she turned around—never leaving his embrace as she looked for her son. Before either of them could say anything, a small body collided with theirs, sending all three of them hurtling towards the ground again in a tangle of limbs.

Emma giggled as Henry hugged her first, whispering how he'd missed her, and how he'd always known she would come for him. She giggled then, feeling inexplicably giddy as he pulled _her _pirate into a hug next, thanking him profusely, and already starting to grill him about treasures, pirate ships and—most importantly—his intentions with her.

She smiled as Killian patiently answered as many of Henry's questions as he could at that moment—it seemed to pacify her son for a little while as he settled back in her arms.

She smiled at Killian over Henry's head, her heart skipping a beat as he leaned in, his heated gaze holding hers as he pressed their lips together in a long, slow, innocent kiss—though it felt like _so_ much more than a simple kiss.

It was everything.

It was a fresh start—a clean slate—for the both of them.

"I love you," he breathed against her lips when he leaned back, "I will always fight for you, love. Always." She smiled and leaned her forehead against his, reveling in the feeling of being in his arms—holding her son.

She felt _whole_.

"I love you too," she whispered back. "Always."

.

.

.

Neal's fingers tightened around the glass ball, his knuckles whitening as he watched the woman he loved and his son snuggle up with the pirate that _stole_ his mother from him. He knew Mulan was watching too, and for the first time since she'd saved him, he wished she wasn't there.

He wished he was alone.

He _couldn't_ let this happen—he couldn't let Emma think he was dead.

She loved him; she told him so. They were meant to be, they had to be—he'd never loved anyone like he loved Emma, and he couldn't lose her to a _pirate_.

"Bae?" Mulan's voice broke him from his thoughts, "Are you okay?" He shook his head, dropping the glass sphere back in the bundle of blankets where he found it, "We need to find them—I can't let him steal Emma from me."

Mulan frowned at him, and he wondered why—surely, she understood.

Emma was meant to be his.

"Emma's not an object," she stated slowly, "And I know her well enough to know that she will do what _she_ wants to do, and no one can make her do anything." He was shaking his head before she had even finished her sentence—because he _couldn't_ think like that.

He couldn't.

He loved her.

She was never supposed to be with anyone else.

"She's just grieving," he refuted stubbornly, "He's taking advantage of her." Mulan grabbed his arm gently, shaking her head. "I don't think so. They were…" she hesitated and bit her lip, "…Intrigued by each other from the very first moment they met. If Emma hadn't left him on that beanstalk," she looked down and shook her head a little, "I think this would have happened a lot earlier."

"Bae," she whispered when he continued to look down, unwilling to admit to the possibility that Emma might not be in love with him, but with the pirate, "Sometimes, these things happen. Sometimes, we love those that do not love us. That doesn't mean that it's anyone's fault."

He knew she was referring to Philip and Aurora—but he refused to see the similarities in the situation. Aurora was Philip's True Love.

Emma's wasn't Hook's.

She couldn't be.

She was supposed to be _his_.

"No," he shook his head, "No, we need to get to them. I need to at least _tell_ Emma that I'm alive, and that I love her." He looked up at Mulan, pleading for her to understand, "I _need_ to try."

Mulan breathed out slowly, nodding in defeat. "Alright. Fine."

As she moved away, towards the edges of his ruins of his father's castle, he stared at the crystal ball for a long moment, trying to picture Emma's response when he came back to her.

"I love you, Emma," he whispered, before turning to follow Mulan.

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**R & R, peeps! Love you all!**

**Love,**

**Annaelle**


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